


i promise you, kid, you'll be home soon

by bstarship



Series: how they met before they met [3]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Iron Man 2, Irondad, Kid Peter Parker, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark Doesn't Like Being Handed Things, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony Stark is Good With Kids, at their finest, he's dying but at least peter is there to cheer him up, just awkward tony and adorable peter, unless they're from peter parker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:34:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27586175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bstarship/pseuds/bstarship
Summary: If there was one good thing to come out of Tony's ultimate death at the end of the week, it was the ability to forget for a short period of time. He spent his time surrounded by strangers who idolized him and friends who sometimes gave less of a damn. But it was a kid who grounded him—who made him wish he had more time because he reminded him that there were good things to live for. One kid did all that.Truly, Tony didn’t know how to make sense of it. A part of him told him to be unabashedly humble. Another part said to leave the kid and drive to Miami with the top down until his eyes fell out of their sockets.It was just a kid. A kid.A kid who had a shopping bag tied around his wrist with the Stark Expo logo on the side. A kid who was silent for a while until he finally said, “I have to use the bathroom.”orPeter is eight-years-old and loves everything about Iron Man. Tony is dying and helps a lost kid find his aunt and uncle.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: how they met before they met [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1971205
Comments: 22
Kudos: 302





	i promise you, kid, you'll be home soon

_“It’s a zoo out there—watch out.”_

Tony’s head had been buzzing from the moment he walked off stage. Blood toxins and alcohol swarmed through his veins as if he had injected them straight through the flesh, sharp and cold like the pain never truly left. Each step he took—fluid yet calculated no matter the pace—melted down to the floor. He was no longer one with his body, no longer controlling his actions or thoughts. So, he put on a brave face and let his muscle memory roam free. No one would be able to tell any different.

He felt like a broken record player, stuttering out repetitive words and greetings from _“hey, nice to see you”_ and _“thank you”_ to every unfamiliar face. Even the faces that seemed vaguely familiar held a grayish blur that made his stomach turn inside out. Tony could flip a switch if he needed to. He could turn on the same typical façade and trudge through the mess of fans and photographers just so he could see the end. He would make it to the end; he always did. 

When he caught sight of a shorter body in his peripherals, Tony’s normal lexicon of greetings was rearranged. It was instinctual—ruffling the kid’s hair, but a cold plastic Iron Man helmet met him in return. 

And it was as if he knew exactly what he meant when he uttered, “see you, buddy.” 

A few seconds later—or minutes, hours, days… it never seemed to matter—Tony could still feel Happy’s hand on his shoulder as they neared the exit doors. The panic he felt inside thickened against the walls of his chest while the crowd thinned. 

Tony decided that he couldn’t stay another minute. He couldn’t see another damned face before making friends with the nearest porcelain throne he could find. Panic, nausea, or all of the above—he hadn’t felt like himself lately. The world didn’t need to see that. 

He split off from Happy and the mess of the crowd like a bullet searing through skin. He felt like an open wound, still hot and fatal, refusing to heal. It was something he could only hide for so long. So, he shut himself off in a bathroom stall and evened his breathing as best as he could. The blinding lights in amongst the narrowing shoulders and hands reaching out for him had made him feel sick. He wished he could say that was the only thing making him feel this way. 

As he gripped the toilet seat, he could still hear the shouts of strangers rushing out to find him. He was relieved to have a moment alone; he just hoped that Happy wasn’t seconds away from barging in to hear his emptying-stomach retches. The spasms jolting throughout Tony’s torso conjured up nothing but dry coughs and acid that had lined his throat. With one final spit, he flushed the toilet and made his way out to the sinks. Someone strange stared back at him in the mirror, someone he had known for forty-something years but now barely recognized. 

“Okay,” he muttered to himself, drying his hands off with a paper towel. “You’ve got a week left; what’re you gonna do?”

Tony exhaled slowly and kept his eyes locked on his reflection. With his lips pulled into a deep, offset frown, he couldn’t muster up enough energy to fake another smile. He was ashamed of himself. Disappointed that he couldn’t figure out the key to saving his life. Angry that it had to happen like this. 

Had he really searched through every possible option? Had he really given up? Or was he wishing he had never tried at all? 

Tony tossed the ball of crumpled paper towel into a nearby bin with vigor. He had made up his mind—he didn’t want to go home. Not yet. 

He could hear Pepper’s voice in his head as he exited the bathroom and deflected from the mayhem. _Your company needs you. This is all a waste of time. Do you even know what you’re doing?_

The answer was simple—he never knew what he was doing. Ever. All she had to do was look at him with those blue eyes, and he would lie with ease so he could keep her from worrying. He knew that she worried more than she allowed him to see; he couldn’t tell her about this. About dying. Not yet. 

He didn’t want to have the conversation because that meant that one day she would never see him again. And he would never be vulnerable in front of her, he would never pour his heart out despite it all seeming like a lie because he never poured his heart out to anyone. He couldn’t stomach the thought, so he chose not to think about it. 

That was how he solved all of his problems these days. 

Tony found his way out of the building without spotting another soul keen on violating his personal space. The odd moments of peace reminded him that he didn’t want the week to end. In a matter of minutes, Happy would find him and usher him away, so Tony was going to make the most of his time while he could. 

The air was warm as he adjusted his bowtie and snapped off his cufflinks. He didn’t have a disguise to shield himself from the many astonished eyes and gasps that greeted him; he just had a pleated, striped suit and a cross look on his face that screamed _don’t approach me._ To his luck, no one did. But, as if it would help, he made his way to a gift shop for a pair of sunglasses.

He chose a pair with a tasteful—in his opinion—Iron Man insignia on the side. 

The cashier had enough fear in their eyes to fuel his ego. “Not many people wear their own merch,” they joked, but he could hear the nerves in their laughter. 

“Yeah, well.” Tony shrugged. “Look who you’re talking to.”

He could feel the customers around him snapping pictures on their flip phones. He could hear every word they whispered. As he turned to exit the shop, he entertained them with a peace sign before slipping on the $8 pair of plastic glasses that clashed with the night. 

Like always, he had no idea what he was doing, but he wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. It was his only chance to see the legacy he would soon leave behind in a matter of days. 

The colors were bright, even with the tinted shades covering his eyes. In his peripherals, vendors and expositions caught him like a fish on a line, and he felt pulled in every direction. Sponsoring companies and Stark subsidiaries had never looked so intriguing. Tony felt like a kid during Christmas again. For a moment, he forgot that he was dying. 

He let his sudden craving for a corn dog lead him away. There had to be carnival food around here somewhere; he wouldn’t put on a show like this without it. Fried dough, soft pretzels, and sugary lemonade were staples he couldn’t resist. 

This was what he was living for—the first bite of a corn dog and a night all about him. Although the feeling would soon end, he wanted to enjoy it while it lasted. 

Halfway through the corn dog, Tony felt a small tug on the edge of his suit jacket. His heart stammered against the metal plate in his chest before he looked down to see an Iron Man helmet staring up at him. 

Tony let out a sigh of relief. “Hey, kid,” he said with a smile. He slipped his sunglasses into the chest pocket of his jacket. “Likin’ the expo so far?” 

A small nod and a hum answer him. “Yeah,” they mumbled, sniffling. “B-but I need help.”

“My help?” Tony raised a brow. His corn dog was starting to get cold. “Um—okay. What kind of help?” 

“I can’t find m-my aunt and uncle,” the kid answered. They tugged at the sleeves of their jacket and sniffed once again. “It’s me—it’s my fault. I walked off, and now I think I’m lost.”

A knot formed in Tony’s stomach for many reasons. The fear in the child’s voice was enough to make him feel pity for the young thing, but Tony wasn’t good with kids. He hardly interacted with them without the safety net of a hundred other people to encourage a fake demeanor. He was being tested. 

“Okay,” he said, nodding. “Okay. We’ll—uh, we’ll find them. Retrace your steps, maybe ask around. Remember where you left them?”

The helmet shook in response. 

“Great,” Tony muttered, “we’re off to a good start.” 

He looked around the vicinity—at the vendors, the pavilions, and the Belgian waffle stand that briefly stole attention from his corn dog—and set his hand on the kid’s helmet. Tony didn’t have anywhere to be, at least that he knew of. He wanted to pretend that, for one night, he didn’t have a single priority. He wanted to see the Expo from a consumer stand-point. Walking around with the kid could give him that. Maybe no one would want to bother a man trying to help a lost child. 

“You got a name then?” Tony asked, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Something I can call you by? Since I can’t really associate you with a face.” He motioned toward the helmet. 

“P-Peter,” the kid sputtered. “Parker.”

“Let’s get started then, Mister Parker,” Tony said. He led the kid down an open footpath where more crowds awaited. “This place is pretty damn big, and you’re pretty damn small.”

“That’s what the doctors tell me.”

Tony glanced down. “Hm?”

“That I’m small for my age,” Peter said, shrugging his shoulders. “People at school make fun of me for it sometimes.”

This made Tony frown. It was clear this kid loved him—loved Iron Man—but right now, all he wanted was to find his aunt and uncle. And, on top of that, he was bullied at school. Tony wasn't a total asshole—he decided that he was going to find the kid’s aunt and uncle and make the night unforgettable. 

“Well, you know, I always used to be small for my age, too,” Tony said as they walked. 

“Really?”

“And I didn’t really do the whole _friend_ thing,” he continued. “Not that I had any choice in the matter—when I wasn’t being privately tutored, I was in class with a bunch of older snobs who didn’t wanna talk to some puny rich kid. They either wanted to be friends with my money or didn’t give two shits about me. Bet they’re feeling real sorry now that I’m a superhero.” 

From behind the mask, Peter quietly chuckled. “I wish I was a superhero. I think you’re really cool, Mister Stark. I’ll be your friend.”

“Thanks, sport, I appreciate that,” Tony said. “I’ll be your friend, too.”

“You will?” Peter gasped out from under the mask. 

“Yep. And I grant you free bragging rights on it.”

“No one’s gonna believe me,” he mumbled sadly.

Tony shuttered. “ _Eurgh,_ kid. You’re making me feel sorry for you. Stop that.”

“Sorry.” He peered up at Tony and pointed in his direction. “Are you gonna finish that?” 

Tony had forgotten about the half-eaten corn dog in his hand. His queasy stomach no longer required the odd craving; he was just relieved he could stand on his own two feet without keeling over. The night prior had been a bed-ridden disaster filled with cold sweats, hot sweats, and every other sweat there was. A corn dog was the least of his worries. 

He shook his head “Nah,” he said, tossing it into a nearby trash can. “I’m kinda in the mood for a soft pretzel. You want a soft pretzel?”

“I—I guess.” 

Tony chuckled. “You can tell me _no_ , kid. You can tell me to F-off if you really want to.”

“No, no, it’s—” Peter shook his head, and the helmet rattled slightly. “Are you trying to kidnap me?” 

“Yeah. How’d you figure out my grand, elaborate scheme?” Tony asked, his tone light and joking. “No. Kidding. No offense, Pete, but I’m not really a huge kid person. How old are you anyway?”

“Eight,” Peter said. “I’ll be nine in August.”

“A whole eight years, huh?” 

He hummed in excitement. “Yep. Cos’ I’m a little smaller than the other kids, I still gotta use a booster seat. But Ben says that once I’m nine, I won’t need it anymore.”

“Ben?”

“My uncle.”

“I see.” Tony’s awkwardness was evident—he was certain the kid could feel it too, but it wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t good with kids. It wasn’t in his nature. “So, soft pretzel? Retracting the offer in three… two…”

Peter nodded. “With mustard?”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Tony was busy racking his brain for reasons why he was doing this as they approached a nearby food stand. To him, kids had a reputation for being obnoxious, snotty, and deceiving, but Peter was anything but. He had chosen to trust Tony. He looked up to him. And even though Peter had come to him crying, he still managed to make the kid feel comfortable. It was an odd sensation. It was as if he actually cared what the kid thought. 

One moment Tony was worried about dying, and the next, the only thing he could think about was helping an eight-year-old kid. It didn’t make sense. 

Peter had Tony help him lift the helmet off of his head. It pulled his hair up in a hundred different directions, tuffs standing up straight while smaller curls fell over his forehead. Somehow, the kid had managed to squeeze in a thick pair of glasses underneath the helmet, and when they went clattering down to the concrete, Peter let out a yelp. He bent down to grab them before pushing them up on the bridge of his nose. 

He gave Tony a tight-lipped smile. “Do I have hat hair?” he asked. 

Tony reached up to give Peter’s hair a quick ruffle. “Now you do,” he said as Peter giggled. Tony turned to the man at the food cart and set down a handful of bills. He wasn’t sure how much he had given. “Two soft pretzels with mustard, please.”

The man stared at Tony and then down at the kid, but the few hundred questions that raided his brain would be left unspoken and unanswered. He nodded instead and said, “of course.” 

“How do your repulsors work?” Peter asked, staring down at his repulsor glove that Tony hadn’t noticed until now. “Does the power come from your chest thingy?” 

Tony’s eyes darted down to the reactor in his chest. “Uh, yeah—oh, thanks,” he muttered, nodding at the man as he took the two pretzels. He handed one down to Peter and started off in another direction. “It’s big-kid science. Electrons turning into muons and all that jazz. Know anything about atomic matter?”

Peter shook his head, and his eyes widened. “No, not really,” he said, “but it sounds so cool. It’s really tiny stuff, I know that.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty damn tiny and cool.” Tony smiled. “Ya got mustard on your face there kid.”

“Oh.” Peter was in the middle of chewing as he reached his sleeve up and wiped across his face. “Did I get it?” 

“Yep, you’re safe,” Tony said. “The mustard can’t hurt you now.”

Peter laughed at that, and Tony realized that he was starting to feel a lot more at ease as they talked. The kid seemed hardly worried that he had gotten split up from his aunt and uncle—which reminded Tony that he couldn’t dally on through the night now. Peter had somewhere to be. 

“So, you a big fan of science then?” Tony asked after a moment. “Cos’ if you are, I’m good at science. You’ve come to the right place.”

“Uh-huh.” Peter nodded. Somehow, he had managed to get mustard on his cheeks all over again. “Big fan. It’s my favorite subject in school. No one else really likes it though. I can’t understand why.”

“It’s too complex for them,” said Tony. “They don’t quite _get_ us scientists. And that never changes.”

“I wanna be a chemist.” 

“A chemist?” He blinked down at Peter. “Not bad. But engineering and physics—now that’s where it’s at. If you ever need a letter of recommendation, you know where to find me.”

Peter raised a brow. “Letter of recommendation?”

“Like, for college and stuff.”

“I’m eight.”

“Yeah, but you’ll be nine soon,” Tony said. “It’s never too early.” 

“My uncle Ben likes to talk about that stuff,” Peter muttered, hanging his head low. “He says college is expensive. He’s worried that they won’t be able to afford it for me.” A beat later, Peter continued, “he and May are probably freaking out right now.”

“Oh. Right. We gotta get you back.” Tony set a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “What do you say we stop in a gift shop, then we’ll keep looking? Yeah?”

A grin grew on Peter’s face, showing off crooked teeth and small crinkles beside his eyes. He nodded happily. 

Tony’s phone had been vibrating in his pocket for the past ten minutes. As Peter picked out a toy gauntlet—in which he shrieked, _“holy cow!”_ so the entire store could hear—Tony read through each text and listened to every voicemail that Happy sent him. All of the messages ranged from _where are you_ to _T_ _ony, answer me_ before finally landing on a photograph of a subpoena addressed to him. Tony’s stomach knotted, but Peter’s excitement made the dawning fear fade away. That was a new feeling—not only enjoying the kid’s company but relying on it to cope. 

It was about time Tony considered seeing a therapist. 

“Pick out whatever your little heart desires, kid,” Tony said, giving his phone one last peek before shoving it in his pants pocket. 

“What?” Peter gasped out. “Are you kidding?”

“Nope.” Tony shook his head. “You’ve had to suffer with me for a half-hour; it’s the least I can do.”

“I like you, Mister Stark,” Peter told him, smiling that comforting, crooked grin. “I’d spend a whole day with you!” 

Tony didn’t know why, but that was the best compliment he had ever received. He didn’t need approval or praise from anyone else. He was set for life. 

“Y’know what, kid,” Tony said, remembering the perpetual ache in the center of his chest, “I’d spend a whole day with you, too.”

If there was one good thing to come out of his ultimate death at the end of the week, it was the ability to forget for a short period of time. Tony spent his time surrounded by strangers who idolized him and friends who sometimes gave less of a damn. But it was a kid who grounded him—who made him wish he had more time because he reminded him that there were good things to live for. One kid did all that.

Truly, Tony didn’t know how to make sense of it. A part of him told him to be unabashedly humble. Another part said to leave the kid and drive to Miami with the top down until his eyes fell out of their sockets. 

It was just a kid. _A kid_.

A kid who had a shopping bag tied around his wrist with the Stark Expo logo on the side. A kid who was silent for a while until he finally said, “I have to use the bathroom.”

“Not a problem,” Tony replied. “Are you stalling? I feel like you’re stalling. You’re just doing this so you can spend more time with me. Is that it? Nevermind that I’m a busy man and have places to be, people to see.”

Peter grinned. “Uh oh. How’d you figure it out?” 

Tony let out a light chuckle and shook his head. “Kid. You’re absolutely diabolical. All right. Skidaddle on over to that bathroom over there so we can get you home. That way your aunt and uncle won’t sue my ass.”

“They won’t sue,” Peter said, “but it would just make ‘em hate you more than they already do.” 

“Lovely. Happy to hear it.”

“Hold these for me?” he asked, holding out the gift shop bag and his Iron Man helmet.

Tony didn’t hesitate to take what was being handed to him. He didn’t think about it at all. 

As Peter sped off in the direction of a bathroom, he yelled out, _“be right back!”_ so everyone in Queens could hear. Tony rolled his eyes and sighed, yet he kept on smiling as if he didn’t feel any pain. Maybe he didn’t—he wasn’t sure, and he had grown numb to it by now. He didn’t feel sick. He didn’t feel weak. He felt like himself again while simultaneously feeling like a brand new person. 

It was certainly a story that would get him good press. All the while, it was also something he wanted to keep to himself. The kid didn’t need to sit through a hundred questions and photographs all because he spent less than an hour with Tony Stark one night in May. 

“Hey, how’s it goin’?” Tony said to someone passing by with a nod of the head. The stranger said nothing yet stared in awe, so he chose not to entertain it much further. No one needed to know why he was there or what he was doing. Plus, the look on their faces when they saw him never got old. 

Peter came skipping back to his side a moment later with a beaming grin.

“Hey, sport,” Tony greeted as he held out the belongings for him to take. “Wash your hands?”

“Duh.” Peter scoffed. “I’m not an animal, Mister Stark.”

“Course you aren’t,” said the older man. “Cos’ you totally didn’t guzzle down that pretzel earlier. Are your aunt and uncle even feeding you?”

Peter scrunched up his nose as they walked. The building that Tony had walked out of earlier sat within view in the distance. He hadn’t gotten the chance to admire his work as he had planned; instead, he was too busy beating himself up for not adding guest services or lost kid stations. Meanwhile, his cellphone was still buzzing nonstop in his pocket—all calls from Happy—and he didn’t bother picking up. 

“You’re gonna miss me,” Peter said smugly. “Say it. You’ll miss me.” 

“Absolutely not,” Tony replied. “I’m going to rejoice all night long once you’re gone. Maybe fly to Vegas. Celebrate the fact that I don’t have to be your babysitter anymore.”

Peter pouted. “I’m eight. Not a baby.”

“I had to help you wipe mustard off of your face, Pete.”

“Still not a baby,” he muttered.

“Yeah, you keep tellin’ yourself that.” 

“What if we don’t find them?” Peter asked quietly, ducking his chin as he kept his steps small. 

Tony hummed. “Who?”

“Or what if they don’t find me?” Peter continued to himself before exhaling. “My—my aunt and uncle. May and Ben. Do you think they left?”

Tony’s brows raised at the question. “What? No. Why the hell would they ever leave you? We’ll find ‘em. Even if we have to scour every security cam on the premises. I won’t let you down. That’s my promise to you, Petey.”

With a small pat to his shoulder, Peter looked up at Tony with a shy smile and nodded. He had his helmet tight around his arm, the plastic hardly reflective under the neon and fluorescence that surrounded him. There was a hint of shine in his eyes as if he had been about to cry but chose to hold it in. Tony gave Peter’s shoulder one last pat. 

“Y’know, one time my parents went on vacation to Spain and never even told me,” Tony said in an attempt to keep Peter from tearing up any further. “I think I was—uh, ten?—at the time. Yeah, ten. Anyway, we had a butler or whatever. Jarvis—great guy. Kept me company and such. But when I woke up to find no parents and just him, I thought they’d finally left me for good. No note. Nothing. Turned out they just forgot to tell me, but that’s beside the point. I thought that I’d never see them again. At the time, I was kind of glad. It felt like a Kevin McAllister kinda situation.”

Peter furrowed his brows. “What’s that mean?”

“Oh, er—you seen _Home Alone_?”

He shook his head.

“Doesn’t matter,” Tony mumbled. “Point is, I was happy at first, then I started to miss them. Naturally, of course, they came back. Dad still hardly batted an eye my way, but I was glad to know that he hadn’t abandoned me. _Yet_. Your aunt and uncle—wherever they are—are out there lookin’ for ya. They’re not in Spain, sippin’ on sangrias in Valencia or tossing poker chips under the moonlight in Ibiza. They’re looking for you. And we’re gonna make damn well sure that they find you. Okay?”

Peter nodded stiffly and wiped at his nose. “Okay.”

“There you are,” said a voice, one that traveled down Tony’s spine and made him tense up. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Haven’t you gotten any of my calls? I’ve tried you like, thirty times.”

“Hey, Hap,” Tony greeted with a smile. He slapped a hand down on his shoulder. “How you been? This is Peter Parker.”

The kid smiled. “Hi.” 

Happy squinted down at him. “Yeah. Hi.” He looked back at Tony. “Listen, you’ve got a Senate hearing tomorrow at eight. If you had picked up the phone, we could’ve been on the road to D.C. already, but instead, you were too busy playing babysitter with a six-year-old.”

“I’m eight.”

“Yeah, he’s eight,” Tony added. “Get it right, Hap.”

Happy rolled his eyes before pressing an envelope to Tony’s chest. “You’ve been served a subpoena, Tony. It’s time to start caring.” 

“That’s horrendous,” Tony muttered, glancing at the envelope. “What for?”

“What do you think?” 

Yet another voice from behind them called out, “Peter? Is that you?”

The three of them turned to face a woman holding hands with a man in tow. Tony didn’t need confirmation to know that they were Peter’s aunt and uncle—the man shared the same wide eyes and wavy curls that made Peter easy to identify in a crowd. 

A smile grew on Peter’s face. “May!” he shouted, pushing his plastic helmet in Tony’s hands before running over to his aunt for a hug. 

Tony and Happy exchanged a look over the helmet before turning their attention back to the reunion. 

“Oh, thank God,” the aunt said, kneeling down and closing her eyes as she held Peter tight. “What were you thinking, wandering off like that? We were worried sick, Peter. We couldn’t find you anywhere.” 

Throughout the interaction, Tony could feel Ben’s watchful eyes on him. They held more confusion in them than anything. 

May had her hands on Peter’s upper arms as she looked at him. “Are you okay? Why’d you walk away from us?”

“I wanted t’see Tony,” Peter said, voice wobbling. “He was leaving. I wanted to see him leave.”

May met Tony’s gaze. “Tony?” she asked and looked at her nephew once again. “You mean Tony Stark?” 

Peter nodded. 

“You guys best friends now or something?” May said. “Since when did you start casually hanging out with Tony Stark, huh?”

“He wanted to help me find you.”

She stood after that, keeping her eyes trained on Tony while Ben finally knelt down to give Peter a hug. She walked over to him with a confidence that made him shiver.

“I hate to admit this,” she said, folding her arms over her chest, “but I guess thanks are in order. He looks up to you. Like, a lot. To be honest, I’m trying not to act as starstruck as I actually am.” 

Tony grinned. “He’s a good kid. Got a good head on his shoulders and all that.”

“After his parents died, we were so scared that it would be a hopeless case,” she continued with a sigh. “And then Iron Man happened and it was like he finally had a hero to idolize. That is _not_ me calling you a hero by the way, because I don’t approve of your methods and I don’t think you’re a good influence on him. But, I’m not one to deny him happiness, so… _thank you_ is what I’m trying to say. You probably just made his entire life.”

Tony could feel that his smile had turned sad. He had accomplished something good tonight. He couldn’t make himself happy—he couldn’t save his own life, but he had made someone else happy. At least he had that. 

Hearing that Peter’s parents were no longer alive made the feeling worse. The kid was a lot like him, especially at that age, and that absolutely terrified Tony to think about. But Peter had his aunt and uncle—there was no way he would turn out like Tony. 

Of course, Tony wouldn’t be alive to ever find out. 

“Yeah, well,” Tony muttered awkwardly. “He made mine, too.”

Peter came shuffling back over after that, a relieved smile bright on his face while he toyed with the ends of the gift shop bag. 

“Your crown, Your Majesty,” Tony said, resting the plastic Iron Man helmet over Peter’s head. From beneath it, Peter giggled. “All right, Pete. This is where I leave ya. Be good to your aunt and uncle. Eat your vegetables. And don’t stay up too late watching cartoons.”

“Wait, Mister Stark—” Peter wrapped his arms around Tony and hugged him tightly. It was kind of strange, being that Peter was a good four-feet-tall and had his head resting right against Tony’s stomach where a corn dog was now digesting. “Thanks for the pretzel and the gifts.”

“Anytime, bud.” Tony ruffled his hair one last time. “I had a good time tonight, Pete. Now I have to go bad mouth a U.S. senator or I’ll get in big trouble.” He turned his attention to May and Ben. “Good meeting you guys. He’s a handful.”

Their discomfort could be sensed through their tight smiles. 

“Yeah, good meeting you,” Ben said, reaching out for a handshake. 

May kept to herself and smiled one last time. 

“Tony, we’ve gotta go,” Happy told him with a hand on his shoulder. 

Tony didn’t spare a glance at his friend as he waved at Peter. “See you around, kiddo. Come back to me when you need those college recommendation letters.”

“Will do, Mister Stark,” Peter said, grinning. “Thanks! Bye!”

With a final wave, Tony watched the three of them turn in the opposite direction, and his stomach twisted at the sight. He couldn’t help but wish that Peter had stuck around longer to help him forget. Forget about the dysfunctional life he still had to live until his final day. Forget about how sick he felt while palladium swam through his blood. He was going to die, but an eight-year-old kid had made him forget. Seeing him leave made the facts come rushing back. 

“You ready to go?” Happy asked, raising a brow as a look of concern flashed on his face. 

Tony blinked a few times to clear his composure. “Yep. Yeah. Got the car?”

“Pulled it right behind.”

“Great,” he said, walking over to the driver’s side and sliding in. “Oh wow. New model. “How far are we from D.C.?”

Happy settled in the passenger seat. “D.C.? 250 miles.” 

Tony started the ignition without another word. After that, he drove off into the night, leaving behind the Expo, the pretzels and corn dogs, and Peter Parker, a young kid from Queens who Tony would never meet again. 


End file.
